


there's a blade where your heart is

by txvbios



Series: believe the whispers [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Swallowing, Consensual Underage Sex, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Oral Sex, Raijin Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txvbios/pseuds/txvbios
Summary: will you let him catch you now, flea?





	there's a blade where your heart is

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've ever written anything shizaya related, and idk if i've managed to capture the essence of either of their personalities, but i enjoyed writing it (especially the sex, if you know what i mean)... so i hope you enjoy reading too???? i mean this is just for my self-indulgence but here it is anyway :D
> 
> btw this hasn't been proofread because i can't be bothered right now, so please excuse any errors...

It all starts, like most things often do, in their first year as students of Raijin Academy. The scene takes place in one of the toilets hidden in the school’s many nooks and crannies, tucked away behind shadows and so veered off of the usual students’ daily comings and goings that it remains unused despite the building’s obvious wear and tear over the years; a boy with a cheap dye job and fingers clenched into bloodstained fists stares hatred into the limp figure of another black-haired boy, who despite the shallow breaths being inhaled and exhaled out of his lungs, is staring back up at him with defiance rimmed victoriously in the faint red of his otherwise brown eyes.

Izaya will later admit that this moment isn’t one of his best, after many a night battling his steeping pride and the obvious smugness of Shizuo’s grin at the remembrance of such an occasion, but alas.

Sixteen year-old Izaya lets out a pained cough, spitting out blood and saliva from the punch Shizuo has just delivered to his stomach. Still, he smiles infuriatingly through the sharp ache that seeps into his skin and says, if only to egg the other boy further on, “Hey, hey, is that all you’re going to do? You’ve disappointed me, Shizu-chan.”

“I’m not _done_ yet, you flea,” Shizuo growls out a reply, rage set deep into the nuances of his brows. Izaya’s smile only broadens at this.

“Oh? Just as I’d expect from a monster like you!” the boy with the onyx hair has the gall to exclaim in a mockery of surprised delight. “So, Shizu-chan, are you gonna kill me?”

“It’s tempting,” Shizuo allows. “But no. Not yet. You’re gonna fucking pay for all the shit you’ve inconvenienced me with, one punch at a time.”

And perhaps it is Izaya’s fault for letting his guard loose, in such a moment of high tension, but the walls around his elaborate ruse of an expression crumble down into exasperated tiredness that is so inexplicably fond, and Shizuo finds himself pausing in surprise.

“What?” the other boy is demanding, still with that mysterious emotion sprawled out all over his face. “You too much of a coward to go through with it, Shizu-chan?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shizuo grinds out, unable to stop his anger this time around, unable to extricate himself from the burning desire to run his fists through flesh. But rather than doing just that, he drives a punch to the wall just above Izaya’s head instead, because there was _pain_ in the glimmer of the other boy’s eyes for just a breath of a second, a kind of pain that he’s never seen on anybody’s face before and that he cannot help but remember.

“I’m going to be really disappointed in you, you know?” Izaya is saying, not knowing the millions of thoughts running through Shizuo’s brain in that instant. “Come on, Shizu-chan. Hit me. Hit me where it _hurts_.”

Shizuo only looks down at him, grimace etched firm onto his lips, and for once reigns in the bubbling irritation that disseminates in his chest every time the blasted flea so much as opens his mouth.

“Nah,” he declares, his voice surprisingly calm even to himself. “I think I’ve got something that hurts even more.”

And after a long, expectant breath falls from Izaya’s lips, Shizuo turns his back on him and stalks out of the toilet, his clenched fists hidden in the pockets of his pants.

The walls around him are left only to house the shaking, shallow breaths of panicked surprise that Izaya extorts out of his lungs in disbelieving clusters, and Shizuo was right. It _does_ hurt more, this way, although he certainly won’t know the full extremity of it until days later, when the blonde-haired rogue of a boy fails to rise up to his challenged provocations, notwithstanding the mar of unhindered fury in his expression and the bulge of angry blood vessels spidering down his arms in conjunction to the trembling hold of his fists.

Izaya does not know what to do anymore. No matter what sinister plot he attempts to rain down on the unsuspecting monster, he no longer takes the bait. It’s as if he’s lost interest, as if the only connection left tethering them together as acquaintances rather than as strangers has been snapped loose from Shizuo’s wrists, leaving only Izaya to pine one-sidedly for his attention.

“Ah,” he murmurs to the wind one day, peering down at the bird’s eye view he has of other students laughing and eating their lunches out on the courtyard below. How nice it must be, to be one of those humans he so adores. “So the monster knows how to think, after all.”

Then, he shakes his head in faux-sadness that he supposes isn’t really all that faux after all. “No, he’s not a monster,” he decides.

“It’s me. _I’m_ the monster.”

He wonders, for a fleeting moment, what it’ll feel like tumbling through the space between the rooftop and the asphalt below, what it’ll feel like to draw screams of horror from the student body at the sight of his cracked-open head and the blood pooling the ground around him. Perhaps it’ll tether him to them in ways that he’s never been able to while the breath of life still frosts over his lips; death tends to draw people to each other, after all, and that’s more than enough for someone who has always been alone.

“Oi, what the fuck are you doing?” Izaya blinks out of his own stupor, and realizes that he has unconsciously climbed over the wired fence to stand at the precipice between frantic heartbeats and the inevitable flatline of a heart monitor.

He whips his head around at the noise, but he knows who it is before he even sees the familiar bleached blonde hair atop that infuriatingly attractive face. Schooling his expression into one of serenity, Izaya smiles.

“What do you think I’m doing, Shizu-chan? I’m enjoying the view.”

“No you’re not,” the other boy says, a definite tone ringing true in his voice. “You think it’ll be a good idea to jump off the damn roof and kill yourself.”

Izaya freezes for a moment, taken aback at the bluntness of Shizuo’s words. Within the next few seconds, he decides it to be detrimental, should he let his lips tremble or his grip on the world around him slacken into nothingness, because that damned monster can be so _perceptive_ at times and it never fails to catch him off-guard.

“Shizu-chan, I value my life too much to do that,” he replies, almost as a protest, and even to his own ears the argument sounds too feeble to be an acceptable one. “Why do you think I always run away from you?”

“If you valued your life, you’d stay the fuck away from me,” Shizuo snaps at him, visibly ticked off now. Izaya wonders briefly if he’ll take the bait this time around. “You’d stop calling me that _shitty_ nickname, and you’d stop _pissing me off_ every time you see my face.”

Izaya pouts at this, looking, for all intents and purposes, like a spurned child. “But Shizu-chan, that’s no fun.”

“You aren’t doing it for fun,” Shizuo points out, with surety in his vowels and the firmness of self-belief in his consonants. “You’re doing it so I’ll notice.”

And he hates it, the way Shizuo looks at him like he’s fitted together all the lingering puzzle pieces he has left of Izaya’s less than stellar personality, like he’s got it all figured out and knows the inner workings of the other boy’s battered heart; Izaya has to look away at that knowing glance, because he knows—he _knows_ —that Shizuo has read him right.

“I hate you so fucking much, Shizu-chan,” he hisses out, curling into a defensive crouch against the wire of the fence. “I wish you’d just die.”

Shizuo steps closer to where he stands, warily as if he were cornering an intimidated cat. “I know you do,” he replies, softly beyond anything Izaya has ever thought him capable. “But I also know that you aren’t being completely honest with me.”

“But why would I be honest with you?” the black-haired boy tilts his head, incredulous. The façade of unaffected glee has all but melted off his face, but still he tries to hold on. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? So why haven’t you killed me yet, when I haven’t run away?”

“Just get the fuck down from there, Izaya-kun,” the blonde demands in a warning tone that Izaya is so tempted to disobey. “And you don’t get to ask me questions, when I’ve got so many for you.”

At that, Izaya keeps his mouth shut. For once, he actually obeys the other boy’s barbed commands, climbing over the fence so that he’s finally on the other side, the _safer_ side that doesn’t grant him the risk of hurtling down to his imminent death, but doesn’t attempt to move anywhere closer to where Shizuo stands with his fingers held tightly together as if resisting the urge to punch the very air he breaths.

“What makes you think I’ll answer them?” Izaya hears himself ask. “I’m not going to reveal my trade secrets to the enemy, you know.”

“I don’t care,” Shizuo answers, then, “Why are you making things so much harder for yourself?”

“…I don’t quite understand what you mean, Shizu-chan. Please do elaborate; not all of us speak monster language.”

It’s the typical blasé reply that will usually have the blonde yelling out his name in pure fury, before proceeding to chase him down the many hallways of Raijin Academy with the threat of murder slipping from his lips, but Shizuo only grimaces at it now.

“You’re going out of your way, making me mad and shit,” the blonde is grumbling, a furrow set firm into his brows suggesting his confusion. “You—that day in the toilet—you _looked_ at me.”

“I looked at you,” Izaya repeats blandly, less than impressed at his attempt to give context to his words. “So I’m going out of my way to make you mad… by looking at you? Well, Shizu-chan, aren’t you just a firecracker.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Shizuo warns, growls with his hands trembling so much that Izaya idly wonders if his fingers will break with any more increases in pressure. “I _meant_ that you looked at me funny. You weren’t afraid, it was almost like you wanted it. Accepted it. And then…”

“Then?” the other boy urges despite his never-ending patience. His hair tumbles after the gentle breeze, and he tilts his head in askance. “Then what?”

“It was like… no matter what I did, you’d forgive me,” Shizuo is mumbling now, but his eyes are imperceptibly training their sharpness on any slight change of Izaya’s expression; Izaya swallows down the bitterness of having been found out, forcing a blankly placid mask to usurp his face. “Like even if… if I rained down all the world’s disasters on your shitty face, you’d just open your arms and love me for it.”

Izaya lets out a small giggle, rising in its cacophony until it becomes a shout more so than a laugh. “Love, huh? You really crack me up sometimes, Shizu-chan,” he says, after he’s finally calmed down and dabbed at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Just because of that, you decide not to kill me? How laughable.”

“You’re just trying to make it sound less significant than it seems,” the blonde announces harshly. Despite this, despite the harshness that litters the nuances of his words, an edge of soft, urging enlightenment tapers and binds them together, so that his tone becomes less violent by the end of his breath. “So tell me what it _means,_ Izaya-kun. Why did you look at me like that?”

And really, all the answers that Shizuo is looking for are ready to burst forth from the black-haired boy’s lips, to ring firm against Shizuo’s eardrums the way a hammer might drive a nail through an iron wall but Izaya stops himself, shuts his mouth tight to the truth that he’s fought so long to keep unspoken. He instead offers another laugh, a biting laugh that grates rather than pleases, that leaves a bitter aftertaste in the caverns of his ache-blackened lungs, and shakes his head.

“I didn’t look at you like anything,” Izaya replies, as if what he’s just spoken is as true as the way the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. “You must have been mistaken, Shizu-chan.”

“Bullshit,” Shizuo calls him out immediately, looking so murderous that Izaya imagines an air of wrath to wrap around him in exorbitant waves. “That’s bullshit, you fucking flea, and you know it.”

Izaya is stumped, in that instant. Maybe it’s the breeze, or the high altitude or the loneliness that threatens to usurp the blood in his veins, or maybe it’s the way Shizuo glares at him so ferociously that his entire body shivers in anticipation of a chase that will never come, but it could also just be because he’s so very _tired_ of it now, hiding behind clever smirks and snaking masks for this long, but he finds himself falling to the ground with weakened knees and an even weaker heart, lashing out at the one person that spins his world, that he sets on a pedestal higher than any of the humans he so claims to love. When he opens his mouth to scream, his voice cracks on the nothingness in his chest, hollowed out by sniffles and sobs and trembling fingers.

“What do you want me to _do,_ then, you fucking monster?” he demands, vision blurring with the presence of unshed tears. “You want me to lay myself bare for you? To rip out this, this _thing_ in my chest that doesn’t listen whenever I tell it to stop? What more do you want from me, _why_ —”

Izaya’s gaze stays zeroed in on the slack-jawed shock that mars Shizuo’s usual anger, and he can feel the walls crumbling, his armour cracking with all the blows it’s sustained.

“Why was it you? Out of all the people in Ikebukuro, in Japan, in the world…”

The wind around them stills, just for the moment after that. Izaya can hear the frenzied rings of the school bell, signalling the end of lunch, and reality hammers back into him like a home run as he scrambles to get up on wobbly legs, wiping his tears on his uniform as he does so.

“Wait, Iza—” But it’s too late.

Izaya turns his back on Heiwajima Shizuo, heart thumping loudly in his ears, and climbs over the rooftop fence to freefall away from sight.

 

* * *

 

He sees very little of the blonde after that.

Maybe it has something to do with the way he so fervently avoids him, wincing at even the mere mention of Shizuo’s name. Maybe Shizuo finally understands, has figured out from the shaky fear that had layered Izaya’s words that day just _why_ he continues to taunt him and coax him into anger, and has decided to stay away, too.

But no matter what the reason is, Orihara Izaya continues to stand at the precipice of an empty, affectionate world, looming down over the puppets of human life that he rains down with wrath and love and poison alike to compensate for the loss of his most favoured toy.

 _No, that’s wrong,_ he tells himself sometimes. _He wasn’t just a toy to me._

It’s certainly a wonder, what time will do to a mind sharpened by self-loathing and opaque linings; Izaya has sat down, has had the time to ponder over the many scars littering Shizuo’s face and arms, even the one scar he’d marred on the other boy’s chest for their first meeting, and he reckons that even _then_ he’d been unconsciously trying to leave a mark, to leave something behind that would label him as more than a passing name, a passing face. Izaya has laughed at the thought but hasn’t cast it aside like he usually would, and even now it sits at the back of his mind like a burning reminder of his incompetency.

The roads of Ikebukuro twist and turn in on themselves as he walks past, catching snippets of idle conversation or the distant honking of car horns, the faint blur of changing traffic lights and the smiles encompassing his beloved humans’ faces. He finds himself treading the familiar path to Russia Sushi, a place he hasn’t visited in the past few months for fear of bumping into that monster of a boy again, but he figures that he’ll take a risk now that his stomach grumbles softly with hunger.

“Ah, Izaya, long time no see,” Simon greets him at the door. “Here for sushi? Sushi’s good. I’ll give you a discount.”

“Sure,” he replies easily, as weightlessly as a feather. “Cash me in on that discount, then.”

He steps into the establishment with lightened steps, unaware for just a moment as a blonde head leans up to catch at his figure, before the moment is gone, and he freezes.

“On second thought,” he says before he can stop himself, panic blossoming into the hallow of his lungs as he stumbles, nearly falls over the concrete of the street outside. Izaya waves over at the confused Russian. “I’ll pass for today. I’ll be back!”

“Izaya-kun,” he hears behind him. The tone is disgruntled, disbelieving, angrier than any he’s heard come out from the other boy’s lips in the past few months, and it is nostalgic as it is frightening, because Izaya’s legs are shaking underneath him and he doesn’t know if they will take him to where he wants to be, this time. _“Izaya-kun!”_

He hurls himself across the street on shallow breaths and wide eyes, urges the mask of a foxy grin and a languid chuckle to set into place as he dodges Shizuo’s violent attempts to grab at his jacket. The chase is familiar, liberating, enticing in the way it steals air from Izaya’s lungs and hides the unwelcome tears that fester at the corners of his vision, but he doesn’t have the time to think about why that is when Shizuo is yelling frustratedly from behind him.

Ikebukuro’s buildings become a motion blur in the haze of Izaya’s mind, a whirlwind of greyscale and neon lights that comes just as quickly as it goes, as he skids past moving trucks and moving humans with a practiced grace. A trash can comes hurtling down the space just beside him, and he grins; this is what he’d been looking for. This is what he _wants._

 _But is it really?_ an annoying little voice inspires doubt within him. _Is this really all you want to be?_

 _No,_ another part of him answers, some tired part that gives life to the lingering ache in his veins and the indescribable yearning that draws him close to the cheap yellow of Shizuo’s hair and the lines of Shizuo’s violent smile. _More. I want something more._

Izaya draws to a halt, faced with a bitter dead end. The walls of the little alleyway envelope him in a soft, profound way, embracing his breathless pants and the slight hint of sweat tricking down his forehead as it echoes almost poetically the thundering steps of the monster who has finally, _finally_ pinned him down.

“I’ve been looking for you, Izaya-kun,” comes the snarl of one Heiwajima Shizuo, the paragon of Izaya’s denial. “Will you let me catch you now, you fucking flea?”

“Yeah,” he finds himself whispering, acquiescing. “Yeah, I will.”

 

* * *

 

Shizuo thinks that Izaya looks beautiful like this.

He will admit that he isn’t the most perceptive, but it also doesn’t do that the onyx-headed boy can be so _elusive_ at times, opting to hide behind a jagged smile or a glistening blade when Shizuo has always been about raw fists and transparent lines. Rarely does Izaya ever show the signs of crushing defeat on his face, as if he’s never known how to lose the way he’s losing now, and the sight fascinates him.

“I thought about it, you know,” the blonde declares, a little softer now that Izaya has no intention to run any further. “You shouldn’t accept all of me just like that. Goad me on to hurt you, just because you want me to look at you. ‘S not healthy.”

At this, the fragile husk of a boy laughs in front of him, although it sounds more broken than entertained. “If I didn’t know any better, Shizu-chan, I’d say you cared about me.”

“And what if I do?” An eyebrow raises on his face, as if to challenge. “What if I _do,_ you flea?”

“Then… Then…” Orihara Izaya trails off, looking for the first time in his life to be utterly lost in the incredulity of Shizuo’s words. “I don’t… You…?”

And he does, now that he thinks about it. Shizuo realises that he’s always been enamoured in the subtle chaos that pronounces everything in Izaya’s features, that saturates his existence in a way that leaves the rest of the world lagging behind him in their monochromatic lack of dimension. He realises that Izaya’s eyes look less like the spilt blood of everyone he’s ever fought and more like the crimson blush of a setting sun, a new dusk, framed by ebony lashes and skin so pale that it could be snow. He notices the blank acceptance that filters in on those eyes, so that they dull and blacken against tears and the tell-tale sign of despair.

Driven by his instinct, Shizuo lunges forward to scoop Izaya’s thin frame into his chest, to burrow the gentle tufts of his raven head into the crook of his elbow, and exhales a breath. “You stupid fucking flea,” he says fondly. “You should’ve told me.”

“But you… you _hate_ me,” protests the other boy, whose honey saccharine voice has thickened with the desire to hold back his sobs. “Shizu-chan, I don’t understand.”

“Well, now _that’s_ new,” Shizuo chuckles. “But I don’t really get it much either, so I guess that’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”

And perhaps they will, but only time will really tell. For now, Shizuo will take his time to map out the tiny galaxies that exist in the speckles of thin scarlet that layer Izaya’s eyes, will caress leisurely at the smooth skin of his chin before he tugs his face upwards for a kiss so chaste that it leaves the both of them wondering why this didn’t happen sooner, why the moment came so late.

“Hold me, Shizu-chan,” the onyx-haired teenager demands, clutches tight at the fabric of Shizuo’s shirt. “I have money, t-there’s a hotel down the street, just… Can you, _will_ you—”

“Yeah,” Shizuo replies. It seems as if all the air in his lungs has just been spirited away into nothingness, because the words come out breathless and disbelieving. “I will, of course I will. I’ll take you there, Izaya-kun.”

He’s never had Izaya fit so perfectly in his arms like this, but he thinks he’d like to get used to it. The other boy stays so pliant even as he leans down to carry him, to rest one arm on his neck and the other behind his knees, and Izaya is so light that Shizuo fears for the first time that he’ll break him. That all those previous fights could’ve shattered his bones, or killed him.

Izaya looks over Shizuo’s actions from the comfort of his chest. He hands him his wallet when the lady at the counter asks for payment, and nods when Shizuo points out a simple, Western-themed room. He burrows his face into the blonde boy’s chest as they walk up to the elevator, and then down the hall, as if frightened by the notion that all of this is just some nonsensical, ill-timed dream.

Shizuo sets him down onto the bed with a gentleness that precedes him, and Izaya looks up at him with hope and the kind of childish awe derived from looking at something that spins his entire world. Shizuo leans down to cup at his cheek, leaving a lingering kiss on his flushed lips.

It’s nothing like the one before it. This one is passionate the way the other was chaste, twining them in lust the way the other had twined them in reciprocated, newfound love; Izaya moves to tangle his fingers with Shizuo’s hair, and Shizuo snakes a protective arm around Izaya’s waist. Izaya sighs openly into his mouth, and he takes this opportunity to coax at the other boy’s tongue, lapping at the saliva that should taste like nothing but instead tastes like the heady, euphoric rush of sugar.

Izaya moans at this, soft at first and then loud a second later. He clings onto Shizuo’s hips with his legs, locking it into a vice and pinning it down to discover the yearning heat of his erection tenting fast between his thighs.

“ _God,_ Izaya-kun,” Shizuo groans, grinds down painfully slow onto the onyx-headed boy’s gyrating hips. “Just like that, just like that…”

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya whines high, arching his back towards the excruciating heaviness of Shizuo’s rhythm. His hair blankets the space around his head in short, raven strands, contrasting nicely against the sheer white of the sheets around him. “Shizu-chan, please. I want, I _need_ —”

Shizuo knows. He _knows,_ so he runs a warm hand down the length of Izaya’s shirt, teasing at the skin underneath with his fingers, and lets the shirt ride up to gain access to more of the other boy’s pale, almost crystalline skin. What greets him are Izaya’s nipples, flushed pink from the open air and the quivering anticipation of what’s to come, and Shizuo dives down greedily to take one of them into his mouth.

Izaya’s groan is almost a shout, because Shizuo pinches at the other nipple with a careful strength that is unbefitting of him, and the sensation on his chest is so _good_ that he keens at every hard lick, every forceful tug. The blonde finds that he likes this, likes the way the other boy leans into his tongue like a bitch in heat, likes the desperation that paints Izaya’s face in furious red clusters; Izaya is clawing at his back now, as if trying to rip apart the article of clothing that hinders him from exploring Shizuo’s skin.

“Okay, okay,” Shizuo gives a short huff, tugging at his shirt to give way to a defined abdomen and harsh lines. He registers the way the raven-haired boy’s face lights up, almost salivating at the confident display of naked skin, and swallows a sharp breath when he feels cold fingers trailing up his chest in a manner not dissimilar to an act of worship.

He pulls Izaya up, then, finds purchase in the boy’s delicate neck. Wondering idly what it’d look like if he left marks on his skin, Shizuo sucks and bites at the sensitive patch behind Izaya’s ear, barely registering the praising mewls that serve as his reward.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya whines, trying to push the other boy away for all that it’s worth. “I want to suck you off.”

The very notion surprises Shizuo so much that he has to pause in his ministrations. Pulling away from Izaya’s collar, he stares into the scarlet of his eyes with widened disbelief, whispering scrutiny into the earnestness of Izaya’s expression and the unspoken language of his quivering lips, and he can’t even find the words to reply. He can only nod, can only stare down in veneration at the way Izaya’s face brightens into fervent expectation and the way his hands trickle down like rivulets of water to fiddle with Shizuo’s zipper.

“You’re so big,” he’s marvelling, in that intolerably saccharine tenor of his that used to leave Shizuo trembling with rage, but which now leaves him with a pattering heartbeat and a gentle swoop in his stomach instead. “I want to eat you so _bad,_ Shizu-chan, you must be so—”

“Then do it,” the blonde commands. “Do it, Iza-kun, do it, just do it—”

And Izaya does. Shizuo has never gotten a blowjob before, not in the meagre sixteen years of his life, but Izaya swallows him down as if he were a regular occurrence, a late lunch in place of the sushi that Shizuo had unknowingly deprived him of. His mouth is so warm, so supple and wet and Shizuo has to stop himself from thrusting into it like the tempting hole that it is, because he doesn’t know if that’s allowed, and he can’t find the traction in his throat to ask. Instead, he clenches a fist into the onyx head bobbing up and down eagerly for him, sending electric sensations down his cock and into his spine in a vinous, heady current; Izaya moans around him, and the resulting vibrations nearly has Shizuo on the precipice of coming to a high.

“Izaya, holy fuck,” he shouts, trying to pull Izaya’s head away from his dick. “I’m nearly coming, you flea, get the fuck away from there.”

But the boy doesn’t listen, doesn’t even deign him a response as he leaves open-mouthed kisses all over Shizuo’s leaking cockhead. He laps at the precum like it were ambrosia, letting his tongue rest against the underside of Shizuo’s cock as the blonde is suddenly coming, suddenly twitching into the hot space of Izaya’s mouth; Izaya pulls off of him with a satisfied grin, licking at remnants of come that Shizuo realises has been swallowed down his throat.

“That tasted real good,” Izaya says, just as casually as he might remark about the weather. “Will you return the favour, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo is pushing him down the bed again before he even finishes his sentence. In his haze to get to the alluring heat of what sits between Izaya’s thighs, he grips impatiently at the hem of Izaya’s pants and rips down to reach for the throbbing of his cock.

“You monster,” the raven yells in protest, although he doesn’t sound too perturbed by Shizuo’s blatant display of strength. “You could’ve just unzipped it like a normal person.”

“I don’t care,” comes the blasé response, before Shizuo is ducking down to take the entirety of Izaya’s cock into his mouth.

The other boy moans so loud that Shizuo fears the people in the other rooms might hear, but it isn’t long before he’s distracted by the twitching mess of Izaya’s shaft against the curvature of his tongue. It’s salty, he finds, with a twang of bitterness that becomes reminiscent of Izaya’s double-edged nature—he wants more of it, and he urges it to come into his mouth with violent, squeezing sucks.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya whines, convulsing on the sheets that support his weight. “Shizu-chan, that’s so good…”

And perhaps it is because there is no delicacy in the way Shizuo pleasures him, but the heady taste of cum filters past his lips and down his throat far sooner than it should have, but Shizuo doesn’t complain. It smells of Izaya, tastes like Izaya, and _is_ Izaya; he never thought he would come to find this flavour so alluring, and he almost laughs at his past self’s blind hatred.

“Do you want to continue?” the sly tone of the other boy’s voice registers in his ears. “You’re still hard, you know.”

Shizuo looks down at his cock to find that yes, he is. “Yeah,” he finds himself replying before he can so much as think about it. “I mean, if you’re okay with that, then yeah.”

“Oh, Shizu-chan,” Izaya croons. He stretches up to cup the blonde-headed boy’s jaw with his fingers, and the sensation it leaves is the way gossamer wings reflect rainbows off of sunlight that filters through trees. “I’m more than okay with that. Stretch me out, will you?”

A few minutes later has Izaya’s face buried in the hotel room’s pillows, ass twitching in the air for Shizuo to admire. It’s hypnotizing, the way his hole puckers open for the blonde’s fingers to take in, the way Izaya gasps pleasantly into the burrow of messy sheets when he reaches for that one tiny spot. Shizuo’s fingers curl unintentionally, unconsciously, and just a few seconds after he’s inserted the fourth finger, Izaya clutches at his wrist and squeezes with desperation.

“I’m ready,” he’s saying around the lustful haze of Shizuo’s vision. “Put it in me, Shizu-chan.”

“Do you… A condom,” Shizuo begins. He spies the hotel’s complimentary condom lying innocently on the bedside table, just out of reach enough to require him to lean over and away from Izaya’s warmth. “I… The lube…”

“Don’t need it,” Izaya hisses now, tone impatient and so very intoxicating. “Unless you’ve got some disease I don’t know about, Shizu-chan, I don’t need it. You’ll fit just fine, now hurry up.”

He’s bossy, but for once, Shizuo doesn’t mind. He lines the head of his cock with the black-headed boy’s quivering entrance, pushing it _in, in, in_ until he sees stars—it’s so _warm_ in here, heat scorching his entire length to the point that it almost hurts, that it’s almost _melting_.

“Shit,” he curses, because there’s nothing else he can say that will explain the way Izaya encompasses him like a wildfire blankets a forest. “You okay? Can I… move?”

The other boy leans up from where he’s positioned on the bed, brown irises lined with red glaring at him with all the flame of a thousand hells, as if it were obvious what his answer should be.

Shizuo acquiesces. The first push is invigorating; it’s as if all the world’s pleasures has been concentrated within that second, within that moment, and when it’s gone he can’t help but chase for more. So he does, and he does it violently; the slap of Izaya’s ass against his balls is as much fuel to his flame as the boy’s keening moans are, and he pulls Izaya’s hips to meet his cock that much closer, that much deeper.

“Sh-Shizu… chan…” the raven whispers, as the bed creaks and rocks against the wall so vigorously that Shizuo would fear it breaking, were he not so clouded in his lust. “Deeper, more!”

“Be _patient,_ flea,” is Shizuo’s answer, although he grabs at one of Izaya’s legs to prop it up against his shoulder, giving his cock a new angle to ram into. “You like it like this, huh? You like it when it hurts, do you?”

Izaya nods with the fervour of a man starved, hair dishevelled and face flushed with the delicious crimson of a blooming rose. Sweat trickles an enticing path down his temple, and Shizuo leans down to lick it away even as he builds up a hard, quick pace to their completion.

“Oh my god,” the boy with the onyx hair is crumbling, coming apart in his arms. He lies boneless on the bed, waist arching up to meet with Shizuo’s thrusts in that way that leaves Shizuo so enamoured, so unwittingly gone as Izaya’s fingers find their grip on the skin of the blonde’s back, clawing and stabbing into it with his nails so harshly that it draws blood. “Yes, Shizu-chan, just like that, just like— _ah!”_

Shizuo answers him in kind, impelling him so tremendously that even he himself loses sight of reality for just a moment. The grip he has on Izaya’s waist is so tight that it will definitely blossom with bruises later on, and he knows that if he wants to, he needs only to press just _that much tighter_ for the other boy’s ribs to shatter. This kind of power, this kind of leverage, it fills him up all the way to his head and Shizuo finds that he wants it, craves it, craves the way Izaya melts just for him alone—the bed is threatening to buckle under the force of their lust, and while Shizuo knows he should slow down a little, he can’t seem to find the heart to do so.

“Shizu… Shizuo,” Izaya is calling out to him. It takes more than a second for Shizuo to register that he has called his name properly, with care and fondness and the kind of boldness one might only find in their search for completion. “I’m going to come.”

“Then do it,” he urges and, impossibly, quickens his pace even more. “Come for me, Izaya.”

Beads of come spurts out from Izaya’s flushed cock, registering as a shout in the raven-haired boy’s lungs. It’s a beautiful, magnanimous sight; Izaya is so spent, even as Shizuo is still chasing after his own release, and it’s only a few seconds later that he’s coming, too, painting the insides of Izaya’s ass a delicious shade of white.

He topples over the other boy, exhausted from pleasure. As if to spite their actions, one of the bed’s legs decide to give out in that instant, breaking down to lie unevenly on the floor below.

Izaya snorts. “You sure were eager, Shizu-chan.”

“So were you,” Shizuo raises a brow, unimpressed. “I don’t see either of us complaining.”

Silence is upended in Izaya’s laughter, ringing softly in the blonde’s ear the way bells chime for a new start, a new hour. “I’m not. I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I guess I shouldn’t be, all things considered.”

There’s something unspoken in the way he says it, and Shizuo catches on quickly enough. “I still haven’t gotten an answer from you, you know,” he reminds, tone soft just as Izaya’s laugh had been. “Why did you do… all that? Did everything you could to piss me off, and then you just left like you never existed. Didn’t even see you in school.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Izaya sighs with tiredness, either from the aftermath of their actions or the heavy weight of his emotions. “You should know this by now, Shizu-chan. I slept with you, for god’s sake.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it,” Shizuo grins, relishes in the way Izaya snuggles self-consciously into his chest. “Come on, flea. We don’t have all day. Our time here is almost up.”

“I know, just,” comes the muffled shyness of the other boy’s saccharine tenor, reverberating against Shizuo’s chest and Shizuo’s lungs and the steady beat of Shizuo’s heart. “I love you, okay?”

“Since when?”

“Since the day I met you, maybe.”

The blonde, would-be delinquent laughs incredulously at that. He thinks it’s somewhat amusing, that such honeyed intentions could lie behind poisonous actions, behind clever plots and jaded motives, but he also thinks that he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’d been a puzzle to pour over at first, the way Izaya’s eyes had glazed over that one moment in the toilet before he could have punched him half-dead, but now it becomes somewhat of a treasure in Shizuo’s rage-filled life. It’s nice to know that there will be someone there to accept him in his entirety, to forgive him in his wrongs and commend him in his rights, to hold him and do so much for him that they’d even embrace his hatred despite the danger that comes with it.

He brings a hand to run reverently through Izaya’s hair. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, can already feel the knot forming around his throat at its implications, “I love you, too.”

Shizuo can feel Izaya’s grin stretching out against his skin.

 

* * *

 

Izaya finds it a little hard to believe, that after months of self-denial and self-doubt and self-loathing, he would come to such a point at which all his worldly desires would come to meet at a single head, would come to manifest inconceivably within the figure of Heiwajima Shizuo, rough and intemperate though he is. These days, he will sit at the school’s rooftop to gaze down at his beloved humans lingering around the yard below, wind sweeping through his hair and Shizuo’s waist curled possessively around his waist—as if any human could pluck Izaya out of his reach, just like that.

“Will we ever tell him?” Shizuo is asking into the crook of his neck. “Shinra, I mean. He _was_ the one who introduced us, after all. Think he’d wanna know?”

Izaya shakes his head. “No, not yet.” _I want to keep you all to myself, first._ “I want a dramatic reveal, Shizu-chan. I want the whole world to think that we hate each other to the point of death, and then I want to kiss you where everyone can see when they don’t expect it at all. Think you can wait that long?”

“I don’t really care too much,” Shizuo grumbles like the monster that he is, arms a comfortable weight against Izaya’s figure. “Too much of a pain to tell him, anyway. Guess we’ll wait.”

“That’s what I love about you, Shizu-chan.”

“Mm. Love you, too.”

Yes, it’ll be nice to have him all to himself for just a few weeks more, a few months more. But as the months grow into years, Izaya finds that he has become restless, has started to yearn for Shizuo’s touch in a public setting, for public dates and public displays of affection and even for the cold, love-stained feeling of a metal ring encompassing his finger.

“It’s time,” he says to himself eight years later, fiddling with an engagement ring as he stares out at the view overlooking his apartment. It’s in a tone low enough for his assistant not to hear, although he supposes that she will know soon enough, anyway.

“Oi, there’s a client here for you,” Namie is calling out from somewhere, tone uninterested and lacking even in irritation. “Should I let them in?”

“Of course,” Izaya grins, feels a rush of excitement coursing through his veins at the prospect of such a plot, of such a manipulation of events, that will hopefully result in a marriage with the one monster he values far more than any other human whose strings he might come to puppeteer.

“I’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> that's a wrap, folks
> 
> (now if you'll excuse me, i'll go back to my math homework now)
> 
> EDIT: SKSKSKS i forgot to mention that the title is lyrics from a song called 'Consume' by Chase Atlantic, featuring Goon Des Garcons. it's really good, i recommend you listen to it! :D


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